


Mycroft's Umbrella

by BooksOverPeople



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Been stuck in my head for ages, Fluff and Smut, Johnlock - Freeform, Kinky, M/M, Mycroft's Umbrella, PWP, Plot What Plot, first fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-14
Updated: 2014-04-14
Packaged: 2018-01-19 09:45:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1464778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BooksOverPeople/pseuds/BooksOverPeople
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The tension is at an all time high at 221B and Sherlock Holmes is overworking himself. Mycroft forgot his umbrella at Sherlock's and since John is sick of waiting for the consulting detective to make a move, he decides to make use of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mycroft's Umbrella

John Watson had about had it. His flatmate, the infamous Sherlock Holmes, was out working late again. He paced his bedroom floor obsessively, a frown etched into his face, his lips in a pout. He knew it was partly his own fault that Sherlock was overworking himself, his own fault that they were walking on eggshells around each other. He sighed, running his hand over his face. He had been so  _done_ with hiding what he felt and keeping it in. Every case they took on was dangerous to them both and he'd almost lost Sherlock countless times. John just hadn't wanted to lose Sherlock without him knowing that someone loved him in the way he never thought he'd ever be loved.

*

**Panting, John leaned back against the wall of the alley they'd rushed into to get out of the criminal's line of fire. Sherlock was in a similar state next to him, those green-silver eyes shining the way they did when he was on the chase. John ran his eyes over the lean figure of Sherlock finding himself yet again trying to commit it to memory just in case they didn't survive this and this would be the last time he ever saw Sherlock.**

**Sherlock caught his eye and raised his eyebrows, his expression saying _"What?"_**

**John shook his head. "Nothing. Just that if we don't get through this, I want you to know that I love you."**

**John _saw_ Sherlock's breath catch. But before that diabolical brain of his could formulate a reply, the arse they'd been chasing had spotted them again.**

*

Frustrated, John slammed his fist into the wall. Ever since that incident two weeks ago, Sherlock had withdrawn into himself. He had lapsed into a silence that lasted 4 days, sitting in one spot for the entire time his long, gorgeous fingers steepled under his chin. He hadn't eaten, hadn't drank any water and he'd worried John sick. John didn't regret telling Sherlock about his feelings. Not one bit. Even if he didn't feel the same, at least Sherlock would know that he was worth loving.

When he'd finally snapped out of his stupor, he'd gone to bed and slept for another day then gone out to Scotland Yard (sans John) and unfaltering, started solving a variety of cases. And John was never invited along anymore, neither was he acknowledged by the detective whenever he did come home.

But that was about to change because John was definitely going to get his attention.

*

Sherlock was tired. He hadn’t slept for…2 days? Or was it 6? Either way, the lack of sleep was catching up to him as he stumbled up the stairs to 221B hoping against hope that John was asleep. Even though he had hardly said a word to the other man in 2 weeks, he ached to be around him and why deny it? He missed him. He, Sherlock Holmes, missed John Watson.

He’d been so stunned when John had so casually stated that he loved him. He hadn’t known what to say, what to do. He was just **frozen.** Sherlock knew that there was a first for everything but he never thought there’d be a time when he just _didn’t know._

He’d thought long and hard about what he wanted out of John. He’d even made a list.

 

  *          Doctor
  *          Flatmate
  *          Assistant on cases
  *          Friend
  *          Lover(?)



 

He’d gotten suck at the last one. Sherlock knew what love was in the theoretical sense and while he had never felt for anyone what he felt for John, he knew that their relationship had moved further away from friends and more towards boyfriends. They were hanging in the abyss between the two labels, waiting for confirmation.

Sherlock sighed as he reached the landing and took out his keys. He unlocked the door and immediately noticed 3 things:

-John was awake.

-He could only see his feet because he was holding a ridiculously large open umbrella that could only be Mycroft’s out infront of him.

-He was naked.

 

If Sherlock had been sleepy before, he was definitely awake now.

 

“John?” he ventured, his voice hoarse from misuse.

 

“Take off your coat, your scarf, your shirt and your shoes,” was John’s answer, his tone taking on that undeniable authoritative tone that drove Sherlock crazy. Silently, he complied with John’s orders, his fingers deftly working his buttons loose and slipping his shoes and socks off.

 

“I’m done,” he offered.

 

John chuckled, “I know. I can feel you.”

 

Sherlock swallowed. He came closer, wanting to see John. As he neared the left side that the umbrella didn’t quite cover, John swiveled the umbrella so it covered that edge. When he moved towards John’s back, the umbrella swished backwards, protecting John’s bare back from Sherlock’s probing, curious eyes.

“Don’t try to see me. I know you want to but you’re going to have to earn it. Do you understand me?”

 

Sherlock found himself saying, “Yes” and moving back to stand infront of John as he had been when he’d first walked in.

 

“What do I have to do?” asked Sherlock, a desperate edge to his tone.

 

“Tell me why you’ve been avoiding me,” ordered John.

 

Sherlock swallowed, “I couldn’t figure out what I wanted from you.”

 

“Elaborate.”

 

“I didn’t know how to classify you anymore because all of a sudden I had new labels that I could use to describe you,” Sherlock spoke past the lump in his throat.

 

“Like?” inquired John, a slight tremble in his voice.

 

_“Boyfriend,”  w_ hispered Sherlock. _“Lover.”_

John gave a low growl and closed the umbrella a little bit exposing more of his legs and thighs as wells as the top of his head.

Sherlock could see that his hair looked tousled. He wanted to run his hands through it.

 

“Second question. Why are you listening to me now?” teased John.

 

“I don’t know.”

 

“Do you want to fuck me, _Sherlock?”_

 

Sherlock gulped.

The umbrella started to open again.

 

“No, wait! I-I…” he yelped. The umbrella halted.

 

_“Tell me._ Do you want to _fuck me?”_

 

“Yes.”

 

**_“Tell me.”_ **

 

“I want to fuck you!” Sherlock screamed.

As the umbrella closed further, Sherlock could practically feel John smirking. He could see his eyes now and the blue glittered with lust and the promise of mischief.

His own pants were almost painfully tight now as well but he ignored them, focusing on revealing John’s body.

 

“Third question. Are you going to be an arse about this later too? Or are you going to take what’s rightfully yours?”

 

“What's rightfully mine?” Sherlock’s voice stuttered.

 

“Yes, you idiot. Me. I’ve always been yours but you were too busy looking at everyone else -analyzing them, reading them- to look at me and see what was so painfully obvious. So, tonight, are you going to look at me or are you going to let yourself be distracted again?”

 

“I’ll be looking at you. You’re my favourite distraction, John,” said Sherlock softly.

 

John’s breath hitched and he closed the umbrella further. His whole face was visible now and his cock was barely concealed as his thighs were entirely exposed.

 

Sherlock’s eyes locked on John’s, silver meeting blue, steel meeting ocean, hard meeting soft. But for once, the ocean softened the steel. It wasn’t hard steel anymore but a deep molten silver that shimmered with the slightest green that could’ve been the love the ocean was trying to grow in those eyes.

 

“Anything else?” Sherlock sounded wrecked.

 

“Yes,” John replied, his voice husky. “Take off your trouser and pants.”

 

Sherlock complied, kicking off his trousers, the offending garment falling at the other side of the room.

 

John’s eyes widened. “You picked the perfect day to not wear pants,” he purred, snapping the umbrella shut.

In the span of a second, John’s lips were pressed firmly against Sherlock’s, his tongue teasing, prying Sherlock’s lips open which was relatively easy since Sherlock wasn’t exactly resisting.

 

Sherlock pulled him closer, bringing their arousals flush against each other. They both hissed at the sudden friction, warm breath against bruised lips, chest to chest.

Sherlock, keeping a firm hold on John, maneuvered them towards John’s armchair. He nudged John into it with a roll of his hips before settling himself on top of John’s lap and rutting their erections together.

 

“I’m sorry about this in advance because this is going to be hot, messy and over far too quickly,” breathed Sherlock against John’s lips.

 

John’s lips pulled into a grin, “Well,” he replied, breathless. “We could always do it again.”

Sherlock growled and increased the force of his rutting making John gasp and moan, his fingers digging into Sherlock’s hips holding on as if he thought that if he let go, he’d be letting go of his sanity as well.

Their lips found each other again. Lips, tongues, teeth clashed, their passion uncontrolled. It had gone too long, too many missed chances, too much combined ignorance in a pair of men who were known as London’s most brilliant crime-solving pair.

They had found a rhythm that made the both gasp and continued to grind against each other, wanting more friction, needing less space, craving more of each other.

A sweaty curl fell in front of Sherlock’s eyes and John moaned at the sight of the beautiful man with the silver-green eyes that had no idea what he wanted a half hour ago but was definitely sure now.

He wanted John. _All of John._

And with that thought, John came, painting their chests with tangible evidence of their love. Sherlock was soon to follow, the image of a John who was in blissful pleasure -gloriously sweaty, head thrown back, Sherlock’s name on his lips- burned into his mind and filed away in his Mind Palace under “Perfect Moments” which, before John, were only filled with cases that were absolutely riveting to Sherlock.

Brows together, they shared the air between them before Sherlock initiated a long, sweet kiss, pouring all his want and desire for John into it. As he pulled away, John grinned.

 

“So,” he said. “Boyfriends?”

 

“No,” Sherlock shook his head, smiling. _“Lovers.”_

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is my first Johnlock fic so please be kind. I hope you liked it and let me know if you like it!  
> Please leave your comments c:


End file.
